First our coffee maker broke on Christmas Eve.
Then I broke myself.
Then we went broke.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
Back Up... I Need Back Up
I have some pretty complicated feelings when it comes to needing help:
Now over the years, and through lots and lots of therapy, I have tried to work on all of these points. Most especially #2 (and admittedly I still need some work on #3). When I found out I had actually broken my tailbone I immediately called my mother to let her know that there was the possibility that I might need help. Now most sane people who don't have issues asking for, and or accepting help, might have dropped the "might" part of that request. But I'm not that healthy and asking for help from my mother... from whom... and in response to hers and my father's feelings about help I developed these particular feelings... is complicated in it's own right.
My mother and I have opposing issues. I don't want to ask for help until it is completely unavoidable. My mother has a weird built in response that urges her (I will acknowledge that she doesn't mean it) to minimize the situation and not give in to all your needs. It's hard to explain. She wants to help but I think she has a natural inclination to protect herself from being taken advantage of. She's quick to give a "you're looking on the mend" seal of approval and leave only to duck out right before the 2nd round of hell begins.
You can see how this might be difficult. I need help but hate to ask for it. My mother wants to help but something in her keeps her from being fully helpful. Maybe you can see why I started to: #1 not want to need help, #2 not like to ask for it, and #3 not like to accept it.
Well, I don't have a lot of resources and the pain in the rear is not letting up. I've tried staying off of it completely but it's not improving and the thought of Monday morning and getting back into full days of childcare, errands, driving, meal preparation is terrifying. I just can't do it. And if I do do it I'm sure I'll be headed down a dangerous and painful path that will only make matters worse for all of us. So I called my Mom this morning and said I needed help.
I should say that we (my mother and I) have spent the last 2 years working on this dynamic together. Trying to understand where it comes from and trying to get through it. My mother is not a bad mother or a bad person. At the end of the day it isn't her fault either. It's part of being human. Resenting the people who need your help (whether you want to or not) is not that uncommon. Resenting the people who are helping you isn't that uncommon either. I should know... just ask Mr F... he's been known to feel the dark side of a *helpful*, and a *being helped*, Mrs F.
I try hard not to repeat this pattern. It's a curse not to be able to ask for help and admit you need it... and it is a curse not to be able to whole heartedly help when it's needed. I don't want my girls to grow up thinking that needing help is a weakness or that there is more personal value in being self sufficient.
Thankfully my girls have two parents. And unlike my parents who came from similar stock in the help department (I'm not anywhere near strong enough to ask my Dad to come help)... Mr F and I are polar opposites. He's one of the lucky ones who will happily serve me while I lay resting on the couch. And I say lucky because being the person to hold the resentment... and know you are doing it... and hate yourself for it... is the worst part of the whole dynamic. You want to be helpful, you want to want to be helpful, but something in you fights it every step of the way. If it was him on the couch instead of me... I'd serve him... grudgingly... and with death rays shooting from my eyes by day two.
So she's coming. She said she's happy to do it. I still feel guilty. And I'm going to try really hard to let her help without getting up to show her the *best* way to slice an apple. But that is a whole different issue... for a different day.
- I don't like to need it.
- I don't like to ask for it.
- I don't like to accept it.
Now over the years, and through lots and lots of therapy, I have tried to work on all of these points. Most especially #2 (and admittedly I still need some work on #3). When I found out I had actually broken my tailbone I immediately called my mother to let her know that there was the possibility that I might need help. Now most sane people who don't have issues asking for, and or accepting help, might have dropped the "might" part of that request. But I'm not that healthy and asking for help from my mother... from whom... and in response to hers and my father's feelings about help I developed these particular feelings... is complicated in it's own right.
My mother and I have opposing issues. I don't want to ask for help until it is completely unavoidable. My mother has a weird built in response that urges her (I will acknowledge that she doesn't mean it) to minimize the situation and not give in to all your needs. It's hard to explain. She wants to help but I think she has a natural inclination to protect herself from being taken advantage of. She's quick to give a "you're looking on the mend" seal of approval and leave only to duck out right before the 2nd round of hell begins.
You can see how this might be difficult. I need help but hate to ask for it. My mother wants to help but something in her keeps her from being fully helpful. Maybe you can see why I started to: #1 not want to need help, #2 not like to ask for it, and #3 not like to accept it.
Well, I don't have a lot of resources and the pain in the rear is not letting up. I've tried staying off of it completely but it's not improving and the thought of Monday morning and getting back into full days of childcare, errands, driving, meal preparation is terrifying. I just can't do it. And if I do do it I'm sure I'll be headed down a dangerous and painful path that will only make matters worse for all of us. So I called my Mom this morning and said I needed help.
I should say that we (my mother and I) have spent the last 2 years working on this dynamic together. Trying to understand where it comes from and trying to get through it. My mother is not a bad mother or a bad person. At the end of the day it isn't her fault either. It's part of being human. Resenting the people who need your help (whether you want to or not) is not that uncommon. Resenting the people who are helping you isn't that uncommon either. I should know... just ask Mr F... he's been known to feel the dark side of a *helpful*, and a *being helped*, Mrs F.
I try hard not to repeat this pattern. It's a curse not to be able to ask for help and admit you need it... and it is a curse not to be able to whole heartedly help when it's needed. I don't want my girls to grow up thinking that needing help is a weakness or that there is more personal value in being self sufficient.
Thankfully my girls have two parents. And unlike my parents who came from similar stock in the help department (I'm not anywhere near strong enough to ask my Dad to come help)... Mr F and I are polar opposites. He's one of the lucky ones who will happily serve me while I lay resting on the couch. And I say lucky because being the person to hold the resentment... and know you are doing it... and hate yourself for it... is the worst part of the whole dynamic. You want to be helpful, you want to want to be helpful, but something in you fights it every step of the way. If it was him on the couch instead of me... I'd serve him... grudgingly... and with death rays shooting from my eyes by day two.
So she's coming. She said she's happy to do it. I still feel guilty. And I'm going to try really hard to let her help without getting up to show her the *best* way to slice an apple. But that is a whole different issue... for a different day.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
I Thank You In Advance
The word is out... I did make it as a 2008 Weblog Awards finalist! Thank you for all your nominations. Due to all the nominations this year they are running a bit behind and voting will begin on Monday. Some of you may remember how this went last year... it is actually a very easy voting process. I'll have a direct link on my blog... there is no need to register, or sign in, or anything. You'll be able to vote once every 24 hours during voting. And I will of course need ALL your votes EVERY day! This year I am up for Best Diarist against Dooce... so I need to bring my A game ;) It's not as hopeless as it sounds... last year my votes would have won out this category so there is a chance! But I will need everyone's help.
I know awards might seem unnecessary but this one is a BIG deal. It brings me a lot more recognition and potential for growth. Not just during the voting season but all year long. With all these medical bills piling up (guilt... guilt) we need however much more that can possibly be right now. Outside of that very practical reason... it also helps bolster my fragile self esteem... and keeps me blogging when I'm not sure I have anything *interesting* left to say. Plus, hey, I'm human and it just plain feels good to have some people out there thinking I'm good at this.
It is especially rewarding to be up for the diarist category. I know a lot of people out there might think of me as a "mommy blogger", or this as a "mom blog", but that isn't how I think of this (or myself for that matter). I'm just one woman trying to share my take on this little thing called life... I just so happen to have children. Sure there might be more publicity to be had by lumping myself in with the parenting blogs but I'm especially honored not to be. In writing about myself I found a way to restore that sense of self I felt I had lost when I first started my journey into parenting. So it is a great feeling to be recognized as someone who is a good blogger and not have to have that quantified by my parenting status. It means a lot and is something for which I am very proud... whether I win or not.
Voting should begin on the 5th. Instead of groveling for your votes everyday I will do my best to entertain you and hope that you will repay me for that effort by clicking the link to the voting page at the end of the posts. There will also be a special giveaway at the end of voting week to show you all my appreciation for working with me all week. You must have voted every day to qualify for this giveaway (honor system) and I'll put up a post where you all can enter that drawing once the voting week has concluded.
P.S. Winning this award would also help me stick it to "The Man" (aka my in laws)... and prove that this is not some piddly pastime I created in order to publicly air our grievances. And that's kind of important too...
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Surprise Surprise
Well yesterday I was feeling a lot better. I was able to maneuver myself with very little pain. I was hopeful and optimistic. Which of course led to some bad decisions. I stopped taking the vicodin because it gave me crazy itchies that made me feel like I was headed straight for an episode of Intervention. I also decided that it would be a LOT easier if I just went grocery shopping... you know... I could use the cart like a walker.
Long story short I'm in bed for the day.
I told the doctor, yesterday, "I'm an antsy type... so you need to be VERY specific... can I actually make this worse?" Apparently yes. He told me to refrain from sitting as much as possible and just stand. That gets old. And once you're standing it's not too big of a leap to stand in front of the stove... making dinner... which leads to lifting pots and pans... and making grocery lists... and going to the grocery store. You get the picture.
Mr F is big on the feigned reprimands all the while moving out of the way and disappearing to another room to check email... not to be seen again. I can't blame him... but I can't blame myself for thinking that maybe the frozen foods should get put in the freezer... and so I did start unpacking the groceries.
Not being able to do things on my time table is the equivalent of Hell for me. If there is a Hell it is having to wait around while your ADD husband gets things *done* (or not) and having to just sit with it. It's enough to make you yell "Spine Be Damned!" and jump (or slowly roll yourself off the couch wincing... but whatever) and hobble into the kitchen to serve your children some actual vegetables.
The good news is that it doesn't look like I will need surgery. The bad news is that I'm in for a 2 -3 month recovery. The doctor said that while many people hobble in saying they broke their tailbone almost nobody actually does. I'm something of a medical marvel.
Long story short I'm in bed for the day.
I told the doctor, yesterday, "I'm an antsy type... so you need to be VERY specific... can I actually make this worse?" Apparently yes. He told me to refrain from sitting as much as possible and just stand. That gets old. And once you're standing it's not too big of a leap to stand in front of the stove... making dinner... which leads to lifting pots and pans... and making grocery lists... and going to the grocery store. You get the picture.
Mr F is big on the feigned reprimands all the while moving out of the way and disappearing to another room to check email... not to be seen again. I can't blame him... but I can't blame myself for thinking that maybe the frozen foods should get put in the freezer... and so I did start unpacking the groceries.
Not being able to do things on my time table is the equivalent of Hell for me. If there is a Hell it is having to wait around while your ADD husband gets things *done* (or not) and having to just sit with it. It's enough to make you yell "Spine Be Damned!" and jump (or slowly roll yourself off the couch wincing... but whatever) and hobble into the kitchen to serve your children some actual vegetables.
The good news is that it doesn't look like I will need surgery. The bad news is that I'm in for a 2 -3 month recovery. The doctor said that while many people hobble in saying they broke their tailbone almost nobody actually does. I'm something of a medical marvel.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Back In Time
Little did we know what was in store for us...
Don't let my mobility and jovial disposition fool you, I am barely holding it together for Kid's benefit...
Don't let my mobility and jovial disposition fool you, I am barely holding it together for Kid's benefit...
Pity
Mrs F looks at Mr F with caution and says...
"I know this is hard for you, but it's almost time to make lunch."
Mr F begins to laugh nervously.
"I know this is hard for you, but it's almost time to make lunch."
Mr F begins to laugh nervously.
The Downside (or at least the one that involves my vanity)
Remember when I said I wasn't going to let this derail me? Yeah well I lied. I got up this morning and dutifully weighed in and was horrified to discover I have gained another 2 pounds in 3 days.
I had kind of pictured myself at the end of my 6 week recovery with Linda Hamilton-esque arms and Kate Moss's atrophied back side. Instead it seems I'm turning into Jaba the Hut.
And while I confess that I did call Mr F around 4 pm yesterday and whisper into the phone "Boston Creme cupcake"... that's not even particularly unusual for me... and I didn't eat it all (although I did also have the white half of a black & white cookie..). The thing is I'm not eating more than I was, say, last week... or the week before that... less, really, I can assure you of that. And yet my weight has suddenly and menacingly spiked higher than it has in a year and a half.
So I'm finding the motivation to stick to a calorie limit, when my bottom side is obviously decided the only way to protect itself from sheer agony is to fatten itself up, hard to come by. In fact I think for the sake of my sanity I should just let this one go for now.
I blame the vicodin.
I had kind of pictured myself at the end of my 6 week recovery with Linda Hamilton-esque arms and Kate Moss's atrophied back side. Instead it seems I'm turning into Jaba the Hut.
And while I confess that I did call Mr F around 4 pm yesterday and whisper into the phone "Boston Creme cupcake"... that's not even particularly unusual for me... and I didn't eat it all (although I did also have the white half of a black & white cookie..). The thing is I'm not eating more than I was, say, last week... or the week before that... less, really, I can assure you of that. And yet my weight has suddenly and menacingly spiked higher than it has in a year and a half.
So I'm finding the motivation to stick to a calorie limit, when my bottom side is obviously decided the only way to protect itself from sheer agony is to fatten itself up, hard to come by. In fact I think for the sake of my sanity I should just let this one go for now.
I blame the vicodin.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
It's Official
I broke my coccyx right where it joins the sacrum ...aka... I did indeed fracture my tailbone. Pretty badly. No little spidery fracture for me... oh no... I had to break that baby straight across. Awesome. They told me I might need surgery... I'll find out this week when I see the Orthopedist. Until then I've got some Vicodin... which should be kicking in anytime now (Thank God). Don't worry I've only got a good 6 week recovery ahead of me...
Laughing, Crying, And Sometimes Both
Thank God for Baby's potty seat:
This makes the difference between being paralyzed with pain and fear and being able to... well... use the facilities.
Oh, make no mistake, I'm in some kind of serious pain. It has not abated. Of course the very fact that it is my butt is hilarious and not lost on me even as I hobble around screaming. I haven't had this level of pain since the initial incision pain from my c-sections. And I don't have the serious meds they give out with those.
I spent the night in great sympathy for paraplegics as I had to maneuver myself in bed (and in and out of said bed) with only my upper body strength. While I'm furious that this would happen when I was finally ready to start back into some serious exercise... I guess the only upside there is to be had out of this is all the unintentional strength training. That and the fact that I don't have to change any diapers.
I am not letting this derail me though, people. It would be easy to do... since I can't workout, I can't prepare food, and well Mr F is challenged in that last department. I'm also craving soda like never before. But I'm not going to give in. I'm still weighing myself every morning and counting my calories. I might not be able to workout to burn any of those off but I can control what I put in. That's pretty much all I can control right now.
This makes the difference between being paralyzed with pain and fear and being able to... well... use the facilities.
Oh, make no mistake, I'm in some kind of serious pain. It has not abated. Of course the very fact that it is my butt is hilarious and not lost on me even as I hobble around screaming. I haven't had this level of pain since the initial incision pain from my c-sections. And I don't have the serious meds they give out with those.
I spent the night in great sympathy for paraplegics as I had to maneuver myself in bed (and in and out of said bed) with only my upper body strength. While I'm furious that this would happen when I was finally ready to start back into some serious exercise... I guess the only upside there is to be had out of this is all the unintentional strength training. That and the fact that I don't have to change any diapers.
I am not letting this derail me though, people. It would be easy to do... since I can't workout, I can't prepare food, and well Mr F is challenged in that last department. I'm also craving soda like never before. But I'm not going to give in. I'm still weighing myself every morning and counting my calories. I might not be able to workout to burn any of those off but I can control what I put in. That's pretty much all I can control right now.
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